Spark
by The Girl with the Scar
Summary: Katniss was the fire. She was the Spark. Claire Aluna ( A.K.A The Sadistic 11 year-old) thinks she is safe. She's 11, doesn't have to worry about the reaping, and, incredibly inconspicuous. And her #1 Rule is to never grow attached to others. But when a surprise announcement appears, she's conflicted. After all, Claire's never been one to play by the rules. REWRITE
1. Chapter 1

Hi! I decided to change the story, and I promise you, this one will be a lot better. The first few chapters are not in Claire's POV, but only the first two. Enjoy!

I do what I apparently do best. I leave. I walk away. I give up. I quit. Because apparently, that's is the only thing I do best. I try to fight the tears  
That threaten to crawl down my face, and utterly fail. Because that's all I'm am. An utter failure. I run, trying to shield my face from those judgemental eyes, and eventually reach The Square. I continue running along the sidewalk, until I am, well, I really don't where. Everything's a blur, and the tears are now falling at a steady pace.

I'll burn those bitches to the ground, into oblivion.

Ill burn them so nothing will be left, so they're damned remains can't even be salvaged.  
I fiddle with the matchbox in my pocket, thinking of ingenious ways to make it look like an accident.

And who am I talking about, you may ask?

What person dare be so cruel, so unimaginably evil, so unbearable awful, that they can strip me of my dignity, making me resort to crying among, among all these imbeciles!? That can make me desire the brutal image of they're burning flesh?

You really want to hold the knowledge of the person that can drive me to such extreme lengths?

My father, that's who.


	2. Chapter 2

** Enjoy**

I continue running, not really care where I'm going. The streets are eerily empty, and I look up. In my grief stricken state, I see some weird girl dancing in the middle of the sidewalk, not really looking, and not really caring. She twirls and skips down the sidewalk.

Damn her.

How dare she be so carefree, so put together, so, so utterly _happy _when my life is shit! A new round of tears come as I stare her down. Her eyes are closed, and she's at the end of the curb, so I didn't worry about her seeing me. Not that she would care. She looks no older than 10, and as she twirls, her golden brown hair flails out. She is wearing a hideous dress, covered in coal dust and tattered beyond repair. I feel pity and then remember who she is.

Claire Aluna.

There is nothing that distinguishes Claire from others girl. She is fairly pretty, with grey eyes and curly hair that bounces when she walks. Actually, to be fair, she's adorable. She smiles all the time, and is taking High School Courses. And if I recall correctly, lives in the seam with her sister. I always wondered why this little girl sat alone at lunch, with that Everdeen girl and the stuck up Mayor's daughters, until three kids in my grade decided to steal that silly little yellow ribbon tied around her wrist. Two came back, one with his face broken so bad that I still surprised they were able to fix it, the other with a scar running down his back, and a little one shaped as a C carved into his forehead. One never came back at all.

She was a psychopath.

A sadistic, ingenious psychopath, who was so inconspicuous, when questions were asked about the third boy, she actually raised concern. And those imbeciles never suspected a thing. But I, as I can assure you, am not an imbecile. And I knew she did it. And I admired her. I had never talked to the girl, but when I was 13, I lit the Justice building on fire, but had made a major error. I hadn't disposed of the evidence. I thought I was majorly screwed. The she started yelling that she had found a body in the basement of the school, which distracted everybody long enough to dispose of the evidence. The body? The body of the third boy was found in the school freezer, by little Claire Aluna, claiming Mrs. Wright, the meanest English teacher in the entire universe, told her not to tell anyone. Mrs. Wright was killed by Peacekeepers a few hours later.

She continued dancing down the sidewalk and I continued speed walking, shoving her with all the anger and rage I felt for my father into the wall. And I took it out on this little girl. I mustered all the strength I had and shoved her again, the hot tears streaming down my face faster than ever. I looked down and watched her slide down the wall.

I kicked her in the ribcage, feeling less angry and more guilty about hurting this girl who had not only saved my ass, but was 10 ten, and at the moment, innocent. She attempted to get up, but I bent down, so we were face-to-face she was looking at the brim of tears, and I had to admit she was brave.

"Ain't so happy now, are we?" I whispered to her. I continued walking, but stopped when I heard her reply.

"I'd be happier if dumbasses like you would watch were they're going."

I stood there, dumfounded. I felt myself being pushed against a wall, with surprising force.

"Like I said, I'd appreciate it if you watched where you're going." She growled, slipping a hand in my pocket, I cursed as she pulled out a knife. _My _knife.

"I see your upset," She said, placing on of her hands on my chest, her eyes full of madness, and, well, _lust. _This girl did not look stable. "Were you rejected? Do you not feel accepted, Jack Parker?"

She was running her hands up and down my chest. I felt all my blood flow South.

"I could make it look like a suicide, you know. Or would you like to apologize." She teased. I let out a loud moan as she pressed her hips against mine. One part of me thought this was very wrong. Another part wanted to slam her against a wall and f*** her brains out.

"Sorry." I muttered, still looking down.

"Louder." She said. She was no longer smiling. She was dead serious.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I promise to look where I am going next time." I replied, through gritted teeth.

And I watched as the girl that had just threatened to kill me, with my knife. I looked at my feet as she turned around again.

"Oh, and by the way, thanks for the knife!" She yelled, seemingly cheerful.

And she continued to dance away, as she had done before we had encountered. I stood,mouth agape. I have never seen Claire as anything other than a murderer. A sadistic, psychopathic murderer, who had the advantage of being incredibly intelligent. But as I looked her now, I realized she was a lot more. A lot more of what, I don't know, but it was a start.

**Claire's POV next**


End file.
